


Perceptor - A Ficlet

by DecepticonWriteFag



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:30:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecepticonWriteFag/pseuds/DecepticonWriteFag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot ficlet about Perceptor and a choice he makes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perceptor - A Ficlet

The red mech paced deftly along the ship's long, lonely corridors. It had been another long, gruelling day, but he could not slip peacefully into recharge. His limbs ached, his scope felt heavy on his face. His self-modded armour never felt more uncomfortable and heavy. His programming, endless calculations and collided data, wore his processor down. 

And still, he could not sleep in peace. At first he'd been able to. At first he'd been able to work himself into exhaustion; he'd slip into dreamless recharge and he would pull himself back from the brink of dreaming to push his frame up to its feet, head to the lab and repeat the ritual. It had worked. But when that stopped working, he began to consume high-grade, and that helped. And when high-grade stopped working he began to experiment with other substances until he found one that gave him precisely what he didn't want. Vivid, picture-perfect, too-real dreams. That had been months ago. That was the last time he'd ever imbibed anything before recharge.   
Perceptor hated dreams. They were so fluid and treacherous. You were shown exactly want you didn't want to think about, what you didn't want to see. There were no boundaries, no parameters, no rules, no limits, no mercy, no decency. They were cruel things, and when Perceptor found a way to eradicate his emotions, he hoped to never experience visions like he had those few nights ago. 

The hallway Perceptor paced turned a final corner, and he was granted with a view of the night sky. The ship was docked, getting refueled and repaired throughout the night so that they could leave in the morning. Perceptor edged his way past the consoles to stand at the very edge of the clear metal that allowed him to see the stars.   
The scientist longed to be out there with spark-wrenching intensity. Things were so simple out there. Out there, all alone where no one could contest his skill as a researcher, a scientist. He could build a databank, a huge store of knowledge and observation with whatever he found out there. And he wouldn't have to think about the Wrecker unit, or gunblasts, being shot to hell and back, being left behind. Being left behind ... Leave him behind one more time, he wished they would. Just one more time and he would dust himself off and walk the other way and never be near his treacherous Wrecker unit again. 

Perceptor's single visible optic slipped closed. If there were no metal here, he would be able to feel the cold night air blow against his plating, tease his sense of balance and he would lose himself in the peaceful nothingness of space. It was alright until he remembered this was the same sensation that had turned his dream treacherous. 

_The battlefield. The explosions. Mechs all around him, dead and bleeding energon. His damaged vocalizer letting out pathetic sounds as he screamed for help with every fibre of his being. No one heard him. They all left him. Please! Have mercy, don't leave me, please, please come back for me! Pain and violence, the very real possibility of being taken prisoner, being tortured. The terror... the dread so intense he wished to be released from it. In the distance, someone runs toward him. Perceptor reaches out to the mech who is running toward him, blue optics bright, armour gleaming white like the sun. Perceptor's senses are flooded; love and hope, gratefulness, a sense of identity, of belonging. And then Drift moves past him into Wing's waiting arms, and Perceptor is left alone to fend for himself, the dark, ugly truth his only company in the fading light. Perceptor, weak, inadequate, unworthy, should have been given over to the darkness. The light of his life belonged to Wing._

Perceptor opened his optic, schooling his features into the cold, neutral mask, even though his spark howled. But he needed this; needed the painful memories and the uncontested proof that he should let go and let Drift be happy. Drift would never be able to choose between them. And Perceptor would never be satisified with Wing's scraps. And in his current state, where his emotions only ran the extremes of despair and fury, he wanted to be away from the cause of his distress with an almost irrational desparation. So he remained where he was, gathering the evidence quietly, strengthening his resolve. 

As usual, Drift and Wing were out on a terrace far below him, but the distance was nothing to the multi-ranged, sharpshooter. He could pick out every detail; Drift's relaxed face as he leaned his helm against his mentor's shoulder, Wing's smile, open and loving and beautiful, where Perceptor could only manage something that looked like a grimace. White and gold armour, blue and gold optics... Did they have any idea how incredible they looked together? Armour of similar colour and architecture, fitting together perfectly, like pieces of the same plating. The pain was unbearable, and still, Perceptor watched. Soon, Drift and Wing would walk away together and they wouldn't be heard from until a few hours before the ship was scheduled to take off. 

Perceptor's departure was in 20 minutes. He'd cleared everything with Kup. The scientist had already said his good-byes in his own, quiet way. Perceptor suddenly felt a stab of giddiness. He would finally know peace out there in space, on a brigade with other scientists. He was looking forward to it. It gave him a renewed sense of purpose to be out there, and he wouldn't have to put up with Wing's niceties or the pitiful, guilty looks from Drift. He would be out there, among his peers where he wouldn't have to face any painful inadequacies. It was painful to leave and yet... a relief. 

Perceptor backed away from the plexiglas sheeting, back toward the consoles and to his personal quarters. "Farewell, sweetspark." He whispered to the darkness.


End file.
